The Pale Verdict
The King’s seal was red wax, heavy and warm to the touch, and it sat atop a parchment that Elias Thorne had carried for three days without opening it, the weight of the document pressing against his ribs like a second, colder heart. He had left the capital on a Tuesday, the air already thick with the scent of wet wool and the distant, metallic tang of the autumn rains, and now, as he crested...
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